200
by Zebra Princess
Summary: Wen, an American fourteen-year-old, came to Middle-earth through death. Stuck in time as an ageless teenager, she's been living in what she believed to be a fantasy for two-hundred years. All along, she's been wandering from land to land, trying to find her purpose. Then, while tracking a pack of orcs, she encounters a company of Dwarves - and joins their quest. NO romance!
1. Prologue

**'Sup, peeps! This is Dweebo Ringlicker speaking to the nation of Hobbit and Tolkien fans! In case those of you who have not read my previous book are wondering, Dweebo Ringlicker is my dirty Hobbit name. You can just call me Dweebo, or if you're a more formal person, you can call me 815. **

**This is my second story. You should check out my first one, ****_Lost and Found Again_****. To anyone who was reading LaFA, I promise you I have not stopped writing it! I am just writing two books at the same time now. LaFA and this book, ****_200_****, will be published weekly (give or take a few days). **

**I seriously will try to make this lead character as little of a Mary Sue as I can. And I hope you don't find the storyline too typical. **

**Hope you like! Don't forget to read, review, follow, fav, whatever!**

**x815 - Dweebo R.**

* * *

_"Izzy! Stop, I said! STOP!"_

_"You're so ticklish," she says while grinning wickedly._

_I giggle and snort uncontrollably. Usually people my age can handle a small tickle match. But me, a fourteen year old, no - I can't even stand it when my hair brushes against my neck._

_"I HATE YOU!" I shriek, trying to sound absolutely serious, but that's impossible when you're laughing, now is it?_

_"Oh, look!" Izzy stops tickling (RELIEF!) and runs to the window. "It's snowing!"_

_Now, Izzy (short for Isabel) is sixteen, and I think she's even more immature than I am. She loves snow. She can't kill a spider by herself. She still thinks poop is funny. I must say, even though we're the closest sisters you'll ever meet, sharing a room with her sucks. Especially since we're both teenagers._

_"Wanna go outside?"_

_"Yeah," I say, wiping tears from my eyes from laughing so much. "Hey - let's go to the pond!"_

_"You mean Steven's?"_

_"Yes! Let's go ice skating!"_

_Isabel wrinkles her nose. "Ice skating?" she says incredulously. "You know we both can't skate for our lives."_

_"I can," I respond proudly. "Allison taught me. And Lauren is like, practically a professional. I could show you a few things!" I puppy-dog-eye her. "Please?"_

_"Fine!" she snaps. "But I don't want to fall and get my clothes wet."_

_I smirk. "Oh, I'm sure I can't guarantee that."_

_We grab our winter gear and ice skates, then hike over to Steven's pond (almost forgetting to tell Mom - Izzy remembers just in time). It's frozen over, coated lightly with a thin layer of snow. The pond is open every summer for swimmers, but in the winter it's completely free - perfect for ice skating._

_I tie up my laces and take a first step onto the ice. Seems solid enough. Smiling, I glide forward, breathing a deep breath of the fresh air._

_"Come on, loser," I say, imitating Regina George's voice. "You'll never learn how to skate if you don't even get on the ice."_

_"Pfft." She wrinkles her nose and inches onto the ice, taking tiny steps. "I'm gonna fall."_

_"Probably," I tell her. "Come on, you have to turn out your feet slightly. Like in dance class, you know? And you have to glide forward, not walk. Ice skating isn't walking. Come on, stop being a wussy. Come ON . . ."_

_The tip of her skate catches on the ice, and she trips. I laugh as she falls on her butt._

_"I'm going back," she snaps with a glare as she clambers to her feet._

_"What! No, wait! Sorry, sorry." I bite back my giggles and force a straight face. She stops, arms folded across her chest. "Okay, let's start over. Here, why don't we take it slowly. See, just . . . try and glide towards me. Slowly. Yeah, like that . . ."_

_I'm so distracted. So concentrated on teaching Izzy how to skate._

_I don't see the ice cracking under her feet._

_"Hey, Wen," she mutters nervously, looking down. Hairline fractures began to split the ice's surface._

_I turn dead serious._

_We're standing over thin ice._

_"Okay, just . . ." I swallow. "Just take really small steps. Here . . . the ice is thicker where I'm standing. Why don't you start moving towards me really SLOWLY . . ."_

_More cracks appear. "Rowen!" she whimpers. I can tell she's beginning to freak out. (She called me by my full name - nobody ever calls me Rowen.)_

_A huge crack as wide as my thumb breaks surface. Izzy's skate nearly falls in it._

_Suddenly, the ice is wobbling._

_"RUN!"_

_For a person who hasn't skated more than twice, I have to say she can run pretty well on blades. She stumbles towards me, nearly tripping over her own feet, as the ice becomes even more unstable. She keeps calling my name, probably out of fear. I call back to her._

_Then the ice breaks._

_At first I think she's going to plunge in, but she dives away and manages to catch herself. With half her body submerged in the cold water, I can't even imagine how cold she is. "Isabel!" I cry._

_"I'm fine, I'm fine!" she murmurs, but I can tell she isn't fine. Her hands are slipping. Slowly, she's sliding into the water below. She only has a few seconds at the most._

_I bite my lip and decide what to do in a split-second._

_With a sudden wave of energy, I slide forward and grab Izzy's hand, pulling her out of the water hole with all the strength I have. We both groan and fall back on the ice, panting, but our relief doesn't last long._

_"Go," I yell at her as the ice becomes even more unstable. My blade is caught in the water-hole. Cursing, I try to yank it out and reach for Izzy's outstretched hand, who has climbed onto the thicker part of the ice safely._

_"Come on," I moan, trying to loosen my skate. Izzy calls my name again. I feel tears coming to my eyes._

_Suddenly, the ice stops breaking._

_We're both silent for a moment. Nothing happens. "Is it stopped?" Izzy whispers, her lip quivering slightly._

_I let out an insane laugh, utterly relieved._

_It's like everything has gone still. Even the snow stops coming down. There's no movement, no sound except for me and Izzy's ragged breathing._

_I'm safe._

_We're safe._

_We're not in any danger._

_Then, within a split-second, everything changes._

_One moment I'm lying on ice, surrounded by still cracks and patches of liquid water._

_Then I'm plunging into the murky hole below, the dim, freezing water engulfing me. The last thing I hear is Isabel's scream._

_I'm frozen, paralyzed with cold. And I'm about to die._

_I'm about to die._

_And I slip into darkness._

* * *

**Remember, peeps, this is just a prologue. I hope to make my actual chapters longer than this.**

**Btw, I have an actual sister named Izzy. (However, my name isn't Rowen or Wen.) So I ask that you don't copy her character and use her in your own story, 'cause you'd be copying my own family member. Just putting that out there.**

**Anyway, how was the prologue? Does this scene seem strangely familiar? Yes, it is slightly based off of Jack Frost's story from Rise of the Guardians. However, this is by NO means whatsoever a crossover! I was just inspired to write this by RotG. And I'm not necessarily a RotG fan, either. I saw the movie once and I was like, _hey, I could make some sort of Hobbit fan fiction! _It inspired me, and suddenly I was all siked to write this!**

**Well, hope you like. And no, you don't have to like RoTG to like this. Please, don't judge my book because of that one little quirk. Seriously. This has nothing to do with RotG.**

**Thanks and happy writing! x815**

**Dweebo R.**


	2. Bread and Cheese

**'Sup, members of Middle-earth! I'd just like to say very quickly that this book is sort of an experiment. I've only ever finished one fan fiction out of probably the fifteen that I started, and that was a Hunger Games fan fiction on a different website. So, I guess you could say that ****_any_**** book I write is an experiment. All that I mean by it is that I tend to start books and never finish them. However, I was too tempted when I came up with the plot of this book - I just ****_had_**** to write it!**

**I hope you guys are reading this. I really do. I absolutely love it when I see my work published on this website, and I see the review and follows and favs that my books get (even if they're's only a few) and I'm just like, "Wow, did ****_I_**** write a book that actually got noticed?" I'm used to not being praised. It makes me feel wonderful when I see that people are actually reading my story, really wonderful. **

**Anyway, here's the first chapter.**

**Wait! I have a VERY important question for you all:**

**Is there chocolate in Middle-earth?**

**Answer in the reviews.**

**Here's to having long author's notes.**

**Hope you enjoy this chapter.**

**x815**

**Dweebo R. **

* * *

The walls of Bree seem ready to fall apart, but I guess they've looked like that for a long time. They guard the town even in their flimsy state, worn down by rain and hail and other means of whether an yet still standing despite everything.

I keep my face hidden under my cloak as I cross the short distance from the treeline to the wall. People in this town are always suspicious - it's typical for Men. If they spot a girl mysteriously wandering the streets of Bree at night, well, things won't exactly go alright for me.

I reach up and knock on the door twice. Silence. I roll my eyes; the gatekeeper is probably deaf. I've seen him once or twice while passing Bree - old, wrinkled, and gnarly.

Impatiently, I beat my fist on the door three more times. A small window opens and an aged face peeks out. "Who's been pounding 'ere?" he calls gruffly. I stand on my tiptoes to make myself look taller and older. I'm no more than five feet, and it's an extreme disadvantage.

I clear my throat. "I'd like to get through, please."

His eyes widen, like he just realizes that I'm actually a _girl_. "What's a lass like you doin' wandering these parts by herself?"

"That's my own concern," I answer evenly. "And in my defense, I'm not exactly unprotected."

I push my cloak back just enough to reveal the hilts of my twin knives sheathed behind my back.

His mouth is a small _O_ as he stares at my knives in wonderment. "Well . . . what might you be doing 'ere in Bree, miss . . . ?"

"Looking for a place to stay for the night." That's partly true.

"Yes, 'right, then . . ." The gatekeeper hastily steps away from the window and shuts it. A moment later, the door opens. "Just watch yourself, miss. You'll get yourself in a right bit o' trouble, walking around and looking so suspicious . . ."

I'm grateful that he's concerned for me, and I give him a smile. "I'll be alright, but thanks."

A soft drizzle of rain drips from the sky as I wander through the streets, threatening to turn into a full-out rainstorm. It seems this place is doomed to a fate of near-constant rain and other unwelcome weather. Almost every time I've visited there's been some sort of storm brewing. I pull my hood further over my head, keeping it so low that it nearly covers my eyes. It's best that I let people think I'm a boy - I wouldn't want some creepy guy hitting on me or anything. Or worse.

There are a few places I'd like to visit before the night is over - the Prancing Pony, the Alley, Asgerd.

I grin to myself. The Prancing Pony . . . that inn holds more history than anybody in this town could ever know. Or, should I even say_ history_?

A few people cast me wary glances as I pass. I head down one crowded street to run right into the Prancing Pony itself, lit aglow by the lights inside. Drunken shouts and laughter erupt from within the walls, like someone had just made a brilliant joke or did something else that must seem really funny.

I slip through the door and push myself through the crowd of men. The bartender is busy reading from an worn leather-bound book, so I have to knock on the wooden surface of the counter to get his attention.

"O! What can I do for ye, miss?" he asks, peering over the end of his button-like nose.

"I'd like a room, please." I glance around, making sure I'm not being stalked.

He looks me up and down. "What's yer name, then?"

"Rowen."

"Rowen . . ." he squints, like he's trying to recall something. "Alright then, miss. I'll have a room fer ye ready in jiffy."

"Thanks." I hurry away and seat myself at an empty table, sighing as I'm finally able to relax after a long day of walking. I'm supposed to be meeting someone here. If they don't come . . . well, I'd have to find what I'm looking for elsewhere.

The barmaid passes by. I tap her quickly on the shoulder and order myself a plate of bread and cheese. She nods and hastily disappears back into the crowd.

My eyes explore the room. I spot a trio of Hobbits by the bar, participating in some sort of drinking game with a group of men. I lean back in my chair and rest my eyes for a bit. It's nice to relax, even if only for a moment or two.

The barmaid comes back with my meal. I eagerly bite into a piece of bread and cheese - I guess you could say I love cheese. Ordered it last time I was here. My heart throbs just a little at the thought of the cheese my Aunt Anne used to make at her farm back home -

What was the name of her farm? I close my eyes, searching through memories. I've been in Middle-earth so long that sometimes I forget things from my past life. To be honest, I'm surprised I haven't lost _all_ my memories. I can still remember my country's president (or, at least, who was president when I left), the names of every single football team from the NFL, the characters from my favorite TV show, _Lost_ -

"'Ello, Rowen! Glad to see you here."

I'm snapped back to Earth with a jolt. I find myself looking up at the two faces of who I was waiting for - Garth and Fáinn, both young males and both extremely irritating. They could almost pass as brothers. Fáinn leans again the table, his face inches from mine. "Lovely to see that the lady didn't back out on her word."

"You're late," I say.

The two of them sit themselves across from me, both grinning. I ran into them last week when they were travelling with a group of merchants along the Brandywine River. I overheard them talking about a pack of orcs near the Weather Hills. When I had approached them and asked where they had received that information, they told me to meet them here - in Bree.

They made me a bargain: they'd give me information if I gave them money.

Garth folds his arms across his chest and leans back. "You pay us first, lassy. Then we'll give you the information that you want."

Garth is the younger of the two, and he's always trying to seem cool. I raise an eyebrow. "Is that so?" I purse my lips. "Nope, sorry. I'm not paying until I get what I've asked for."

Fáinn shrugs. "Then there will be no deal."

I sigh defeatedly and reach into my satchel, pulling out two silver coins and tossing the money to them. Garth picks up the piece of silver, staring at it with wide eyes.

"Alright, I've given you your money. I want information." I take another bite of my bread and cheese, still eyeing them.

Fáinn brushes back his shaggy dark curls and winks at me. "Easy there, Wen. Don't have to be impolite."

I roll my eyes. "Tell me everything. Now." I'm slightly annoyed that he called me Wen - I don't go by that name anymore.

He sighs and reluctantly dives into his story: he and Garth were on the East-West Road, headed for the Blue Mountains to find work. They had almost reached the Old Forest when they ran into a group of thieves - men that carried weapons and rode on horses with their stolen goods in tow. They had stopped Fáinn and Garth on the path to check them for any money and valuables.

"They had axes and poison arrows," Garth puts in, smiling like a madman.

Somehow I feel like they've been exaggerating the story a bit, but I listen anyway.

"We didn't have anything, so they let us go. But I overheard them talking. They mentioned a pack of orcs travelling west from the Trollshaws, headed for the Weather Hills. And one of them said -" Fáinn leans in, voice hushed. "He said he had a message, written in Black Speech."

"A message? From who?" I demand.

"We don't know. We assumed the thieves and the orcs had something to do with each other."

I put my bread down and think. Orcs hanging around the East-West Road is strange . . . but the fact that men and orcs are working together scares me.

Something's going on.

"Is that all?" I ask.

Garth and Fáinn glance at each other.

"What is it? Tell me!" I say.

Garth smirks and holds his hand. "More money first. _Then_ we will tell you."

I glare daggers at him. I get the feeling this is going to turn into something bad. "I paid you for information, not _half_ the information," I growl.

"Just two silver coins, Rowen," Fáinn promises.

"I'm not giving you a penny," I answer. "And may I remind you, I've taken down opponents much worse than you two."

They probably don't know what pennies are, but I think they get the gist. Garth stands up, eyes gleaming. "Is that a threat, girl?"

I jump to my feet too, but I'm a lot shorter than him. My hand automatically flies to the hilt of one of my knives.

"Careful, now. Let's not get into a fight," Fáinn says wisely, eyeing me. "Garth, shut your mouth before you say something foolish."

The room has quieted considerably, like the other men and women have noticed us. I don't break the staring competition between me and Garth.

"I reckon you've never even _seen_ an orc before," he snarls. "I've probably wielded a knife more often than you have -"

I pull an arrow from my quiver and notch it in my bow, blinded with anger. The room goes completely silent. I curse myself for starting a scene. _Now look what you've done._

"Easy, now, easy!" Fáinn hisses. He turns to Garth. "Let's go before you make an even bigger mess, laddie."

I slowly put my arrow back in its quiver. "You have no idea who I am, _Garth_. I've taken down Wargs twice the size of you."

"I've defeated a pack of thieves!" he shouts. (Like that's even true.)

"Oh, yeah? Well I bet I could snap you're neck with one hand!"

"You are nothing but a _girl_. A small, weak girl."

That was a low blow.

I reach behind my back and whip out both knives. Garth eyes them warily. Somebody in the crowd shouts, "'Atta lass!" and guffaws, but other than that everything is silent.

Garth sneers. He actually _sneers_.

"I'm more powerful than you think," I say, wishing I could come up with a better response.

He snorts.

"Garth, let's leave. Now," Fáinn says, a hint of warning in his voice.

Garth growls and turns away, storming out of the bar without his friend. Fáinn glances at me uncomfortably before shoving his way through the crowd, rushing after Garth.

I stuff the rest of the bread and cheese into my mouth and leave the Prancing Pony as quickly as possible. I've drawn enough attention to myself already. I head to a small shop nearby, the sign hanging over the door faded and cracked. The only word visible on it is _apothecary_.

I head inside, shaking the rain off my cloak, and look around. A bent figure moves in the corner of the small store. "Asgerd?" I call.

The figure, a woman, stops rummaging through her assortment of herbs and salves and turns to face me. The skin on her face is wrinkled, and her brownish-black hair is streaked with gray. She claps her hands together when she sees me. "Oho! Rowen, then, is it?"

"Yes." I shrug my satchel off my shoulders and toss it on the floor.

"Never thought I'd see the Lady of Eriador wander into my shop ever again, but here ye are!" She chuckles to herself. "What can I do fer ye, Miss Rowen?" She turns towards her medicines again. "Need any salves? Kingsfoil?"

"No, but thanks, Asgerd," I say. "I'm looking for something else."

"Anything, lass."

I pull my hood off. "Well, I've heard about a pack of orcs travelling near the Weather Hills. I was wondering if you had anymore information related to that."

She looks up at the ceiling in thought, like she's trying to remember something. Asgerd is one of the only people that I trust, and she is often the first one to hear if anything strange has happened within the area. Some say she's got the powers of a fortune-teller as well. Even though I've never told her, I think she knows what my secret is.

"Ah!" she says suddenly. "I know what yer talking 'bout, lass. Pack o' orcs and Wargs near the Trollshaws, I heard." She lowers her voice to an undertone. "They're out there looking for something. Or someone, maybe. Orcs seldom come this way without a reason."

My blood turns cold. "What do you think they're looking for?"

Her face is dead serious. She leans in and whispers, "Dwarves."

"What!" I cry. "What do they want with Dwarves?"

"Don't know what, lass. You'll have to ask someone wiser than meself."

I nod, feeling adrenaline pump through me. "That's . . . that's very interesting."

"It is, i'nnit? Makes me wonder if anything strange might be going on . . ." she trails off, lost in thought.

I clear my throat. "Thanks again, Asgerd. I owe you one."

She grins toothily. "'Don't owe me nothing, missy."

See, this is partly why I like her. She understands the jokes and terms that I get from my old world. I don't know how, but she does. Which makes me suspect even more that she's knows who I truly am.

I say bye to her and head out. I finally begin to wonder what I'm going to do - I can't go back to the Prancing Pony. In fact, I probably need to get out of Bree entirely.

I trudge down the muddy roads until I come across the gate again. The gatekeeper squints at me. "Wha'choo doing back here so soon?" he asks, but I only give him a "thanks for everything" and pass through without answering him.

I'll have to sleep in a tree tonight. Pity - I was looking forward to the warmth of a comfy Prancing Pony bed.

As I head away from the walls of Bree, I can't help but think about orcs, Wargs, and Dwarves.

* * *

**So. How ya'll liking it?**

**Here's to long chapters, eh? Well, it seems long to me, but to be honest I wish I could make it a bit longer. **

**Don't forget to answer my question of the day: is there chocolate in Middle-earth?**

**(P.S. you might answer, "Yeah, ****_duh_****." But then I would say, "Cocoa grows in the Amazon. The Amazon doesn't exist in Tolkien's world. So, does cocoa exist in ME, or does it ****_not _****exist?)**

**Answers go in the comments.**

**Anyhow, I'm starting to have higher hopes for this book. I really want you guys to enjoy it.**

**Read, review, follow, fav, whatever :D**

**Thanks and happy writing! x815**

**Dweebo R.**


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